“It smelled like more than a few sips when you came to bed.”
“I didn’t realize you were awake. And I don’t know why we’re talking about drinking and not the stolen book.”
“Because you’ve said everyone is questioning your judgment.”
“About the Plantin.” She kneaded her temple with her hand. If the panic had subsided, then the headache, the hangover, were still in full force. “About the need to call in the police. No one except you is questioning my judgment around drinking.”
“I had to ask.”
“Splendid. You’ve asked. We drink wine in the same proportions every evening.”
“How’s your pulse?”
She had to put two fingers to her throat to check this time. A good sign, that she couldn’t taste her pulse anymore.
“It’s still elevated. My breathing is better. Arguing with you about my pinot noir consumption apparently has the effect of calming my panic attacks. They’ll be finished soon; I should get ready to leave.”
“Where are you?” he said. “This isn’t your office number. Can I come get you?”
She turned the chair and glanced at the door as though she had to remind even herself where she was situated.
“I’m fine,” said Liesl. “I’m going back to work.”
“Come home early tonight.”
The fatigue, the hangover, the guilt. None of that was John’s fault. But he was a place where she could put her anger.
“There’s simply no way. I’m in Lawrence Garber’s office. The university president. But he’ll need it back now.”
She hung up without saying thank you and stood to find the dizziness gone. She heard applause outside again and was sure she could sneak out of the room before she was pulled into a photo or some other obligation. There was a single knock on the door, and Garber walked into his office.
“Liesl,” he said. “Not running off, I hope.”
“I was,” she said. “You’re very busy.”
“They’re setting up for the photos.”
Liesl smoothed her hair with her hands. “I’m in no state. I didn’t dress for photos.”
“You look better than you did twenty minutes ago.”
“I’d have worn a suit.”
“Chris is always in a suit, isn’t he?”
“Noted. I’m not yet used to being the public face.”
“Oh bother. That’s not how I meant it. We need you in the photo.”
“It will look strange to have me underdressed.”
“It will look stranger to not have the library represented.”
“Max will get here soon enough if you’ve called him.”
She moved toward the door, but he didn’t move away from it to let her through.
“I wanted to talk to you about something,” Garber said. “I’ve had an idea.”
“About the Plantin?”
He nodded. “What did it set us back?”
“It was 488,000 pounds. With some additional fees going to the auction house and for shipping.”
“And you fundraised it all?”
“Most. We have a small discretionary fund for annual acquisitions.”
“What if you didn’t have to fundraise?”
“Fundraise for the Plantin?” she said. “But we already did.”
“I have discretionary funds too,” Garber said, leaning against his office door.
“I see,” Liesl said. “But we’ve already paid for the Plantin.”
“I’m saying we buy another.”
In the mid-century modern office of a world-renowned academic, in the middle of the day, through a blistering hangover, Liesl wanted a drink.
“Well. Sir. That isn’t possible.”
“Wrong,” he said. “Nothing is impossible if you’re willing to pay for it. I have a million dollars I can put forward. For a million dollars you can make it possible.”
She didn’t want to insult him, but she wanted to laugh. “This is impossible,” she said. “For us to buy a Plantin, one would have to be for sale.”
“Let’s find one for sale.”
“There were only 1,200 ever printed. And that was in 1572.”
“Twelve hundred is not a small number.”
“I agree. But most of them were lost in a shipwreck en route to Spain shortly after they were printed.”
“A shipwreck?”
“Indeed. There are only a handful in public collections around the world.”